Monday, December 29, 2008

I observed a fight at the bus interchange. I was on my way home to see the kids, knowing that children use language in a unique way. Maybe I read too much, and maybe my impatience with the (technical documentation) words that we are forced to use everyday came pouring out. Slang txt etc. The fight was between the miserable, the words in this piece use the language of misery (and the language of my misery). It all just feeling sort of fell and fit into place.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Like all of us i am surrounded by fools and clowns. as susan sontag once said (more or less) one has to live in post industrial society to understand how seriousness itself can be brought into question. so i ride the bus to work and look over the shoulder of the petty bourgeois and glean little nauseas of the blatant lies and rampant idiocy. which pass for culture and informed political comment these days.

Only follow the link if you are strong of mind and heart

The rabble meat of a babble meantDub gulch of piers.

I do not know of the whereBut whores they, them surly knew.

Craven some lace.

And the face of the troublesomeTree baroque feigns afarOver her graby pour lice.

Without warm womb!Out out damned polis!Would in fact in feckOverwhorl with piled to the skyHi grime grimm dark for rest dank.

And the poor masta pile themselvesUP up - I have everyting i cuddleEver white want one whit why shovelEye my hard earned? eh?

To 'elp whelp some urn less auf?

Mark me cross (tele rending cross)Where is the in da bile do it Stink say all dat??All dem dings eh?!?

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

In strategy the longest way round is often the shortest way there; a direct approach to the object exhausts the attacker and hardens the resistance by compression, whereas an indirect approach loosens the defender's hold by upsetting his balance.

He walked with the dog in the surprising early summer cool. Il Piccolo della Sera. Venus and Jupiter low in the West. The Western Isles of falling sun, graveyard of the day. The West is the Best.

The silvered crescent moon glowormwaxed a thin piece to all ring of a peace glow. Ice crystals in th'alto atmosphere refracted the reflected light. Photons the Sun to the Moon. Eight minutes for to travel light from Sun to Earth. Massless Celeritas at 299,792,458 metres per Second.

This evening there was a conjunction of Venus & Jupiter & the MoonMaking a smiley face - not to be seen in Australia again until 2036 So I thought i would post a poem. This was written on the bus home.(The source of all grate poetry)

She sometimes wished she were deadRiding on the bus after workTraveling home, with smashingSlashing lighting crashing the middle Distance. The dull twilight of dusk.Ach! She thought, one can have theseSentimental cravings, these silly adolescentIdeas. Fearful of home with her uncaring Husband and piled bills endless rolesOf cooking cleaning. Maybe she thoughtThis idea is not so silly after all.Listening others on the bus, inaneChatterings of sneezing and sniffingAnd coughing on the bus with mobilePhones and plans for the weekend (plansShe knew went no further than gettingDrunk) Overlistening to them.She felt like a spy - like a spyWho wished only simply coldly to die.